


Two Bits

by sue_dreams (raegan_1)



Series: Prayers, promises, dirges, and ditties [2]
Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Community: ccbingo, Gen, Grooming, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-29
Updated: 2012-04-29
Packaged: 2017-11-04 12:35:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/393892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raegan_1/pseuds/sue_dreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A shave (no haircut); Coulson is not as ambidextruous as the situation requires. Clint has steady hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Bits

**Author's Note:**

> For the ccbingo Round One (Non-Sexual Intimacy) 27 - Grooming.

They've had worse injuries from less dangerous missions, but Clint understands the frustration that comes from limited mobility. He spent two weeks letting Natasha wash his hair a few years back, and it sucked. He, at least, didn't have to worry about anything but hygiene at the time.

Coulson is as calm and composed as ever, but Clint has sat through three meetings unable to tear his eyes away from the stubble that is just starting to cross the line from five-o'clock shadow to serious deshabille. 

He likes it, but he's the only one and it's distracting.

When Coulson tilts his head and leads the way to the locker room, Clint follows without further prompting.

"You're hands are always steady." Coulson's statement of fact could have any number of hidden meanings, but they're alone. Mostly. Clint has neither proof nor doubt there is surveillance in the locker room.

Under the circumstances, Clint decides to forego the search for hidden subtext and take the words as permission. "So, let's do this."

It's no surprise that Coulson's kit's fully stocked, including a styptic pencil and moisturizer. Clint starts with the basics of warm water and towel, but is mentally two minutes ahead. He can shave Phil standing face-to-face, but the angle will be awkward, no matter how steady his hands might be. The alternative is to stand behind Coulson and reach around, and the angle might be almost familiar, but Clint is pretty certain Coulson wouldn't let him that close.

Maybe.

But Clint puts the question aside until Coulson's jaw is coated with shaving cream. "So, we can do this two ways," he starts.

"Face to face," Coulson answers, decisive. He must have been thinking about it, too. No doubt he's been ahead of Clint's two minutes by a similar margin.

Clint just nods and slides closer. It's a plastic safety razor, there isn't a lot of damage he is likely to do with it on accident. On purpose is another thing entirely, but Coulson isn't the enemy.

Clint lets silence lapse as he slides the razor down in the first swipe, but Coulson's eyes fall closed and it's almost too intimate a thing, sharing Coulson's space. They'd be sharing breath if Clint closed even a few inches of distance between them. Instead, he starts talking, letting his words fill the gap and hold it open.

"Barney and I learned to shave at the same time, even though I didn't have any hair to be shaving. By the time I was old enough, I already had practice and we weren't that close."

Coulson's eyes open, and Clint realizes his mistake too late, because if they were close before, the catch of their gaze strips the space away all over again. Clint stills with his hand on Coulson's chin and the razor hovering above skin, not touching, but Coulson drops his eyes closed again without a word.

He finishes up on Coulson's right cheek and moves to the left, leaning a little closer to adjust the temperature of the water he's using to rinse the blade. "I did a beard phase. And a goatee phase. Both were dead sexy, I'm sure you can imagine." There's a twitch at the corner of Coulson's mouth, but he tamps it down quickly. "And I've done sideburns, but that's not a look I can carry off. Are there mohawk pictures in my file?" he asks, rinsing the blades and allowing time for Coulson to answer before Clint shaves his neck and chin.

Coulson's eyes open again and regard Clint, but it's a little easier than before, with the shaving cream making Coulson look slightly ridiculous. His voice is dry as he answers Clint's question. "There are. I thought that was for a mission?" 

Clint grins at him, gestures that he's starting again, then uses his thumb to angle Coulson's head up. "It was. Originally. Then 'Tasha bet me that I wouldn't keep it. I only had to outlast the handler. And Stebbins? is a total buzz kill. Eight days post-mission and he made me shave it all off." He runs a hand over his current hairdo to illustrate that he truly means 'all', though the effect is lost with Coulson's eyes closed.

Coulson makes a sound in his throat that could be sympathy for Clint, Stebbins, or the mohawk itself. He holds his position as Clint shaves slowly around his neck, and this is truly the time when his trust in Clint is apparent. Leaving himself exposed and vulnerable...

"I didn't really care for the mohawk, but shaving my head completely wasn't much better. And the fuzzy stubble of it growing back in? Wasn't fun realizing that my hair didn't grow evenly. Neck is done."

And for him, this is the trickiest bit, because he has to make faces to get the right kind of shave, and he isn't sure how that translates to Phil's contortions. Coulson's eyes are open again and he's watching Clint stare at his mouth. "We can leave it."

"You want a goatee, sir?" He tips his head to the side. "Not that you couldn't rock the fashion. We can do this, but you're leading here, sir."

Coulson turns to look at the mirror, and opens his mouth, lips pulling back to cover his teeth. His eyes move to Clint's in the mirror and his face relaxes. "Finish it."

It sounds a bit like bravado, but he turns back to Clint and makes the same face. Clint takes a moment to laugh, but Coulson waits him out, stubbornly holding the position for the handful of seconds it takes Clint to get himself under control. 

And then it's over and Clint rinses the razor quickly before helping Coulson splash water over his face to remove the last traces of shaving cream.

Coulson runs the fingers of his uninjured hand over his face, testing the smoothness of his own skin as he tips his chin to the mirror. "Good work, Specialist."

"Steady hands, sir," Clint reminds him. He reaches for the moisturizer and dutifully squeezes some onto Coulson's hand. He isn't sad at all at the missed opportunity to feel the smooth planes of Coulson's face under his fingertips.

Not at all.

He packs up Coulson's things, stowing them in a similar way to how he'd pulled them out earlier. There are changes enough to make it obvious that it wasn't packed by Coulson's hand: the styptic pencil is upside down, the moisturizer and shaving cream are now separated by the razor instead of it being tucked to the side. Clint likes leaving his touch on Coulson's things.

He hands the kit over without any fuss and Coulson takes it, but then fails to follow through on the "we're done here, let's get moving elsewhere" motion Clint is expecting. 

Clint is the one with the supposed creepy stare, but it's hard to stand still under Coulson's gaze when he isn't certain what the man is waiting for. His face is clean-shaven, his kit's packed. Clint didn't cop a feel or take advantage of the situation in anyway.

"Thank you," Coulson finally says. His hand twitches around his kit and Clint could almost imagine the aborted offer of a handshake that might have caused it.

"Yeah. Of course. No problem." Clint bites down on the urge to offer to do it again, anytime, because the words he can feel clawing to get out don't end with the offer. There's too many things he wants to say, things that have nothing to do with the moment. He got away with the mohawk story because of the situation, and even that had probably been too much, too inane.

Coulson taps the kit against his thigh and nods. "Barring unforeseen circumstances, would you be available to--"

"Yes," Clint says quickly. The other choice was, "Please," and he figures that a little enthusiasm is easier to ignore than pleading. Neither response was good.

"Seven-thirty," Coulson says with another kit-thigh tap, expression unreadable. "I'll be in my office. Good evening, Agent."

He turns and leaves Clint alone with a sinking feeling. Because Coulson calls him a variety of things, depending on his mood. 'Barton' can be almost fond, 'Hawkeye' tends to carry with it exasperation with Clint's recklessness. 'Specialist' differentiates Clint and Natasha by dint of their unique skill sets. 'Agent' puts Clint in a class of forty other people who answer to Agent Coulson. It points out that Clint is not a peer, but a subordinate, no matter how steady his hands.

Then again, Clint is the one with the morning appointment to share Coulson's space, get up close and personal with Coulson's face. He's not the only one at S.H.I.E.L.D. with steady hands, but he's the one with Coulson's trust.


End file.
